


UNFINISHED - A Collection of Unfinished Works

by aingea9867



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: I had to get the drug one out here and off my chest, Other, because it's so hard to finish, especially because it seems like it needs another chapter, it was very like, so here, unfinished i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 19:32:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10543089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aingea9867/pseuds/aingea9867
Summary: A series of unfinished (not scrapped) Dear Evan Hansen works that I need to get off my chest. Please enjoy!





	1. Rehabilitation

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I currently have 2 unfinished works that are being stuck in here while I think of ways to finish them. If you like a chapter, please please PLEASE leave a comment to tell me, and please tell me if you want something finished! Once they are finished I will edit the current chapter and add a link to the finished work in the notes. Thank you for reading, enjoy!

****

Connor Murphy was positively enraged to find himself back in the same room he thought he said farewell to two weeks ago. The white walls and bright lights inflamed his desire to punch anything and everything in there. He let out a scream and threw himself onto the floor. I can’t even believe they would put me back here! God! Connor thought to himself. He banged on the hard tile floor, feeling the dirt accumulate onto his fist.

The door opened to reveal a white coat he knew very well. His eyes trailed up to meet the severe eyes of Dr. Goodman. She immediately took a few steps forwards, her pointed heels clacking with every step.

“I hadn’t expected to see you in here once again, Connor Murphy,” she practically hissed out. Her expression showed no signs of sheer anger, just a small twinge of disappointment. The wrinkles around her eyes relaxed as she took another step forward. She kneeled down and put a hand on Connor’s shoulder, only to be met with his face inches from hers.

“Touch me again,” Connor spat out, “and I kill you.” His face was twisted in anger, his skin flushed everywhere except the cheek he kept on the cool tile floor. His eyes narrowed as he looked into Dr. Goodman’s, examining every bit of her face. Old fucking hag, he thought.

“If you disagree,” Dr. Goodman’s voice pierced his ears with every word as she got up and trailed around the room, “that you have a problem, we may have to keep you here… indefinitely. Maybe even permanently.” She put on a slight smirk, pivoting on her feet to face him. “We don’t want that, do we?”

Connor’s face relaxed as he realized the danger of the situation. They have me here for something else… Or the same thing? I don’t know, I don’t know!

“I’m not staying here for any longer than last time, you fucking psycho,” he exclaimed with a nervous laugh.

“Well, I am clearly not the psychopath here. I thought that was understood, Mr. Murphy. Now, if you don’t mind, we will have to confiscate your clothing, as per usual conduct-”

Dr. Goodman was cut off by an enraged Connor jumping up from his position on the floor. He took a defensive stance, his body leaning forward as if ready to attack in need be.

“You are not fucking taking my jacket,” he said quietly, holding the jacket closed as if an invisible force was trying to rip it off.

“I am afraid we have to, as protocol says-”

“Fuck protocol!” Connor shouted, taking a step towards the doctor. “I’m not taking off my jacket you fucking hag!”

Dr. Goodman took a step backwards. It was not in a defensive manner, but a matter-of-fact retreat. Her face tightened in frustration, but she quickly corrected herself. She straightened up and held a position that made her seem more confident in the situation.

“I will speak with the boss,” she said, turning the handle of the door. Connor’s head span as she mentioned the boss. The boss was his worst nightmare, someone he had heard of for years, but never met. The boss was the director of the psychiatric ward of St. Vale’s hospital, the hospital Connor had been treated in two times before. He also spent some time in the Rehabilitation Ward of the hospital, which was much smaller and shabbier. The boss was someone Connor feared, as if he was being threatened with the image of the boss ordering some doctors to take him away and mess with his brain.

Connor let her leave the room and he slumped back onto the ground, ignoring the chair and bed in his room. Only the cool floor grounded him to reality in that moment. The rough fabric of the chair meant nothing to him, it was like second nature under his calloused fingers. It felt too similar to everything else he lived with, his own chair and his own bed. Because of this, Connor stayed on the ground for the next five hours, trading patterns into the floor with his index finger, ornate flowers and blooming flowers, but also drawing the jaws of some unknown monster into reality. It snapped its dark teeth at him, looming over and constantly waiting, hungry for his next mistake.

In the middle of the fourth hour Connor took his jacket off. He let the buttons clack against the tile and spread it out, as if he was offering it to some invisible person to slip on. He ran his fingers over the weather-beaten fabric, the pads of his fingers feeling softness despite their roughness. Every stain on his jacket was from the light, as Connor would never have gotten any food stain on his favorite jacket. All the yellow patches were reminders that he was alive, that he could feel the sun on his back and it would always follow him and leave a mark, even when he ducked in the shade he always had a reminder. He came upon some areas where he had attempted to poke pins and buttons into his jacket, leaving small holes concentrated around the right pocket. They were never seen, never felt, unless he deliberately searched for them. Connor never liked to feel them, it reminded him that his coat was damaged in that area, and it could never be fixed. Granted, there probably was some way to fix it, but it would take too much time for a silly little patch of holes. He had been through more serious hopes, he thought, and he would patch those up. But the small holes would one day rip into a bigger hole, as would his feelings. Small, unimportant “incidents” would one day rip into a bigger hole, a bigger problem that he needed to patch up. 


	2. The Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Evan falls out of the tree, but explicitally described.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a lot shorter than I remembered. This one probably needs to be finished, because it's so.... short.

Evan held his arm open, keeping careful not to extend it too far or bend it in too much. Knives slashed at his bones and daggers pierced the muscle. He knew exactly where it broke, the sharp ends digging into nerves and flesh. He winced periodically as he looked at his boss, Ms. McKinnon, through hot tears.

Callie McKinnon had worked at the park for 18 years, yet was still relatively young. Not one of the apprentices knew her age, but it was obvious she was in her mid-thirties. Every day she tucked her short curls into a baseball cap, several ringlets still sticking out, and worked from open to close all summer. Not once in her experience of working at the park did she have to take anyone to the hospital.

On this day in June no one was on the south side of the park, where Evan broke his arm. Once he lay there motionless, no one could hear him. He desperately cried out, no one heard. He tried to reach for his radio, which he had been given last week, but it shattered in the fall.

The fall was not a simple splat, like one you would hear in a bad story. Evan hit several branches going down, most of them bendy and snappable. They splintered and broke as he fell down. Leaves and needles poked at his eyes and filled his mouth, scratching every surface of him as he flew down.

In the moments he flew down, he remembered. One crucial piece he missed.

Evan clawed at the branches, trying desperately to hold on to one. His grip always slipped, the bark roughing up his hands until they bled, pieces of wood hooking themselves into his palms. He finally felt a white light break through his arm as he hit the ground sideways. His arm seared with pain, as if he placed it in an energy arc. His arm immediately went numb, as if it had been twisted and turned so much all the nerves bundled together and went limp. Evan felt nothing else from that point on. He was almost certain he had been paralyzed. Why can’t I just die now? Evan thought to himself, his twisted body numb with pain.

Ten minutes had passed before Evan attempted to move himself off the ground. He reached for his radio, but only felt an amalgamation of shattered plastic and broken wires. It had shattered under his weight in the fall. He moved his right arm to feel around his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is soooooo bad, I'm so sorry! Please let me know if you want this one finished!


End file.
